Five Ways That Riley Never Killed Spike
by Nicole Anell
Summary: Warning: Character death, times five. A 'five things that never happened' collection of ficlets. Five alternate takes on seasons 4, 5, 6, 7. Leans in Spuffy directions.


**Five Ways That Riley Never Killed Spike**

**I.**

Maggie Walsh has a system. If anyone ever looked through the files -- the doctors or scientists mostly, a few lay technicians who have authorization -- they'd see codes. Pencil-written sometimes, typed into a document one way and then crossed out in red. TRACK A, TRACK B, TRACK X, UNDESIGNATED...

Everything comes in without an assignment, up for grabs. It could depend on what breed of creature it is -- Track B is the standard biology run. Or Track P is an alternative that shows up every now and then. Most people assume it's some kind of psychiatric study. Walsh and her proteges, fascinated by the mind inside a monster. In reality, the P means special project, but you need a pretty high ranking to know even that much, let alone have a clue what the project is.

What you wouldn't expect is that most codes aren't based on strength or physiology. They're intelligence factors.

The thing about "vampires" is, they've got so many. This town is full of them, so you find a use for the extra ones. Walsh was the one who came up with Track A, still stuck in some university-fostered grading system. The easy tests, the Mickey Mouse experiments. Vision, hearing, response to different bloods. She thought there should be a way to determine which subjects go where. You study hard, you get a reward.

They watch for the ones who don't keep touching the glass after the first time it shocks them. The ones who cower in a corner of their cell. The ones who speak a human language -- English is a plus, of course. The ones with human faces, you catch them sometimes on the security cameras looking so afraid. You can't trust it, of course, can't risk any _sympathy_ for them when you've got such important work to do. It's just how you know the smart ones, the Track A material.

Hostile 17 is a Track X.

It was Finn who caught up with it, apologized so much for keeping it a secret, nearly 36 hours. Wanted to take a demotion, even. He practically begged to be criticized and dressed down and forgiven, but that will be dealt with later.

Track X means potentially fatal tests, weapons tests, the kind you do on the ones you can easily lose -- lately the lab team has been thinking about artificial sunlight, or about where the line for beheading ends. It's never personal. It could have gone either way for 17, until he tried to escape.

They're all too weak in this world we're building, can't be classified by physical strength. But they can be smart. Smart enough at least to know they're weak, to realize their only shot at surviving is to cooperate.

Maggie Walsh understands this. As for Finn, he's never looked at the files. He's one of the smartest people she knows.

**II.**

"No hard feelings, then," Spike says. "It wasn't personal." Someone's made a nice band-aid around the great massive cowboy's little G.I. chest, where his chip came out. Maybe the slayer did it, all gentle like she could. He can see her over with her friends, talking to the army types with arms folded tight. Still that nasty gash on her head. Spike wishes he was there when she got it.

Riley says, "Buffy's call. She's had a long night, worked out a lot of that tension on Adam" -- 'course he's the one who looks like death and she's barely broken a sweat -- "Guess you're a lucky guy."

"Just making sure you get that I'm all apologies," Spike says with a nod. He takes a survey of the wreckage for effect. "I'd say I personally took out... maybe seven or eight demons here tonight. Not saying I want the congressional medal, I just hope you weren't planning on shipping me to some other Area 51 first thing tomorrow."

"That won't be necessary," the boy answers, glancing somewhere else. "Might want to consider New Mexico though. Before someone, I don't know, accidentally tosses a grenade into your place."

He grins now. "Come on, corn-bred, we're practically blood brothers here. You know what it's like, bitty piece of silicon telling what you can and can't do. Least you could detach yours. If it were so easy for me, I'd be tearing my skull apart right now."

Riley's face is blank, doesn't go for any obvious comebacks. Keeps looking to the slayer and her cute little bruises. Spike's getting bored, snaps "Hey, we have an understanding, right?" and he answers, "Sure, sure."

Then he says, "By the way, Spike?" and the stake is inside and out, lightning-fast, before he even sees it coming.

Spike coughs out "OW" and then "son of a-" from the shock, but it doesn't really hurt like he would've thought. Not like your unlife is being ripped away, more like a gentle little _pull_ into nowhere. Kind of nice, actually, what taking in a quick, hard breath of oxygen might've felt like. He doesn't hear whatever pithy comment Soldier Boy has to say, it starts with "That's for..." and Spike's already gone, the last thing he's thinking is _yeah, I pretty much expected_

**III.**

"The joke of it is I was happy," she spit. "Are you hearing me? I didn't _know_ I was happy. That's how you can tell how perfect it is. When you don't even notice."

Spike raised his eyebrow. "Are we having a breakthrough? Should I start charging by the hour?"

"Shut up! I felt sorry for you, you know that? Impotent_ ex_-vampire, not part of my job description. So I let it slide, I let it all slide. But you know what? I'm sick of this."

He only followed to protect her anyway. Instead he got front row seats when she set fire to that brothel, took out a bunch of cheap, law-abiding vamp junkies, pathetic bitches in runny makeup. Genuine panic was just starting to creep in when he said, "Maybe I shouldn't have showed you, alright?" He was looking for a place to go, survival instinct. Something small he could hit her with and not have too much pain to keep running. "Maybe should've let you find out yourself. Mind my business, sit back and watch him get in more trouble. Lesson learned. I'll just be going-"

She shoved him back to a wall, got her pole up again, inches from his chest. Nothing in her eyes, not even his reflection.

"He couldn't do it," Spike heard himself blurting. "The Iowa kid, he wanted to off me for this but he couldn't." Laughing now, couldn't help it. "That's why you'll never be happy with him. He's just a person. He's too _good_ for you."

White hot pain, it took him a second to realize she hadn't staked him yet, she'd hit him in the jaw, and three more times punched him in the gut hard enough to rupture an organ. He didn't bother with "don't kill the messenger" this time around. She made this noise when it happened, this primal sort of sob, and he was more in love with her than he's ever, ever been.

**IV.**

Riley and Sam are playing at superhero, tall man with a gun and his wondergirl sidekick. He figures he won't tell her what happened, or he'll stick to the black-and-white. It's only Sunnydale that screws him up, brings out the other colors in between. When they take off, when they're crossing the ocean, he'll be able to remember what kind of person he is.

He was only looking out for Buffy, though. That's what he thought you were supposed to do for girls -- for women. He loves Sam, he loves her, but he loves Buffy too and she's better than this. Not some whore for guys like Parker and Spike to take advantage of. So maybe she's not ready for something real, but whatever she deserves, she doesn't deserve _that_.

When he went back, he said, "I told you we'd do it for real. I told you to stay away from her." Or he wanted to say something like that, but Spike was already rolling his eyes, always with the attitude, always tuning out the universe.

There was the requisite manly punching, and some manly-punching-back-followed-by-chip-going-off. In Riley's eyes Spike seemed smaller these days, thinner, all naked angles and bones. Saying, "You really think you're the big hero in this. All ready with the melodramatic speech, _please_. Do it. Be a man and do it, do it. You think I give a damn anymore? _Do it_."

Later Buffy goes, "No right, you have _no right_ to come here with your life-size G.I. Jane and start trying to fix my life for me." She hates him for good now. He realizes he doesn't care, if that's what they need to move on, if that's the only way to make all this end.

**V.**

"Are you gonna do it?"

((His nose isn't bleeding anymore, so again she can't suppress this teeny tiny hope that it's over. Maybe it is over. How do they know, really? How do they know it wasn't temporary?))

She said, "Let's just wait. Let's see if we hear from someone."

((But they won't, and the calm won't last, and in another ten minutes he'll feel something again. He says _sorry_ when the lightning hits now, _sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry_ burying his head in the mattress. After it passes he'll find her hand, and they'll be real again.))

"They burned the place to the ground three years ago, love. I think somebody disconnected the phones."

"I still had this email address from Riley. They could be on a mission, he- he might not have time to check it right away, but when he does-"

((Pain is abstract, something you own by yourself. She doesn't know how to _hurt _with him, so she just sits there idly, sometimes holding a wet cloth to his head. It's not even in the right place, it's on his cheek. She sucks at doing this. Sometimes when it's bad he calls her name like she's not there.))

"You know, if I knew it was gonna end like this, I really would've taken back the part where I broke you two up. Could've been useful for once in his life."

"We could try messing with magnets and cellphones. Just disrupt the stupid thing. Isn't that how electricity works?"

((She's learning gallows humor, been practicing for years. It's something concrete to hold onto: his fingers are another example. Whatever else happens here is abstract, like pain, and she can never quite feel it the way he can.))

"Are you gonna do it?" he said again.

She nodded shakily. Deep breath in. Pulled her hands away and concentrated on getting the stake from her jacket.

She said, "Count to five."

((His eyes are open.))

She did it on _two_.


End file.
